


Balcony // Gramon

by DeadInTheWater



Series: ONESHOTS [5]
Category: Blur (Band)
Genre: 1990s, Grief, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, after top of the pops, blur - Freeform, damon is sad, graham coxon is dead, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:55:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadInTheWater/pseuds/DeadInTheWater
Summary: We all know the story of Graham Coxon and how he almost jumped out of a window one night in the 90s.Imagine if he actually did.(POV DAMON ( This is kinda sad btw... sorry つ ◕_◕ つ)
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Graham Coxon
Series: ONESHOTS [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666732
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Balcony // Gramon

**Author's Note:**

> everything can be seen as platonic or romantic, whatever you prefer ^^

I throw the jacket on my livingroom floor and let a sob escape my lips. I turn around again and slam the door shut. Then I sit down on the couch and close my eyes. My hand reaches for the bottle of wine on the table in front of me and I take three big gulps. My head hurts even more now. The bottle lands on the floor, the liquid inside lands on the carpet. I could not care less. My eyes are burning as if on fire, my stomach is aching, every single part of my body is screaming for something- someone. Silent tears run down my face. I feel so cold suddenly, freezing. I'm holding the telephone in my left hand, dialing with the right one. It rings twice before the person on the other line picks up: „Damon?“  
„Alex...“ I whisper. I don't even bother to hide the fact that I'm crying.  
„Hey, what is-“ He stops, apparently got interrupted. There are loud sounds in the background; people laughing, talking, loud music. He's at a party. Just as I'm about to say something, he starts again: „I'm so sorry, I really can't talk right now, but...-“ A female voice is heard, followed by the sound of someone laughing- him laughing. I feel sick to my stomach suddenly. „Damon, mate? I'm really worried, are you alright?“ he seems distracted, maybe by whatever is happening at the party. Worried, he doesn't sound worried to me. „It's fine.“ I mumble; „I already feel much better. Bye Alex.“  
I can hear him start to say something but I hang up before he gets the chance to finish it. Am I cruel? Rude? I don't blame Alex for being at a party, for having fun. Not at all. It's been almost six months. This entire thing- it isn't about Alex having moved on with his life. It's about me not having moved on with mine. I try to take a deep breath but all I can smell is alcohol. The radio plays a sad Beatles tune and I can't help but remember how I always told you to drink less and you smiled and said: „But I can feel the music better when I'm drunk.“  
God, how right you were. I can feel the music better this way. I feel it in parts of my body, that I barely knew existed before. But feeling it, doesn't make me happy. I can't even remember the last time I've been truly happy. I bet you would know what to say to make it alright, to cheer me up, at least a little bit. But you aren't here. You aren't here and no one could ever convince me that it isn't my fault that you aren't here. I should have been there to stop you. I would have known what to say to make you stop. I truly believe that. Too many inside jokes and too many years of friendship and too many shared memories for you to just jump when I stand behind you, telling you „Please, don't jump.“ You wouldn't have.  
But I wasn't there to tell you inside jokes and stories from our many years of friendship. I wasn't there at all. And you jumped. And you landen. And I was inside, dancing. Celebrating that we had won the oh-so important battle of Britpop. I was happy that night. Horribly happy. The saddest fucking thing about this story? I even realized that you had left at some point. I remember the exact second. For a short moment I thought about following you, checking on you. But I just didn't. I just decided that the party was more interresting. I thought: „I'm sure nothing will happen. I'm sure he's just having a smoke outside.“ You weren't just having a smoke outside.  
When they found you, you must have looked pretty nasty. Maybe you didn't think about that when you jumped. Or you did and you just didn't care. Turns out, this all happend early in the night with none of us knowing. We got the news when the dawn came up. Well, first Alex and Dave did. I can still see them walking up to me now, shaking and with teary eyes. I knew what had happend before they'd told me. Maybe because subconsously I already felt that something was wrong earlier that night, when you left.  
Apparently not enough to go outside and actually look for you though.  
At that point I decided it would be a good idea to call your parents. Later they'd tell me they found a goodbye note specifically addressed to me in the pocket of your jeans.  
I haven't read it yet. Maybe I never will. I'm still holding onto the small hope of this all just being a terrible nightmare, that I will just wake up and be back in the tourbus with my three best friends. I miss you so much. With that on my mind, I pick myself up off the floor, where I had fallen while thinking of you, and drag myself over to the stairs. I've got a song stuck in my head and I can't figure out which one. Can't think of name or artist. Nothing. There's just this melody with no meaning, no story no feeling. I wonder if that's what you felt like playing our songs that night. I find myself upstairs now, not quite able to remember how I got here. I walk through my bedroom and only stop when I reach the balcony. I feel like doing something stupid. The air smells way better here than indoors, where there's only smoke and alcohol and guilt. For a split second I lean over and look down in the garden. I wonder what would happen If I'd jump now. I'm sure Alex would forever be haunted by the fact that he didn't pay much atention to me when I needed him most, even though he may have had a bad feeling already. Just like it was with you and me. I take a step back and wipe the tears away from my eyes. This wouldn't solve anything. This wouldn't end my suffering- it would only pass it on to someone else, right? And I stare up at the sky where the sun is starting to show for the first time in months. A weak smile appears on my face as I go back inside and close the door of the balcony behind me.


End file.
